


Stay with me...please

by Anonymous



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Tony Stark, I Tried, I'm Sorry, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Recovery, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “The court ordered an extended stay Mr. Stark.” Those words hurt more than the time he sliced his arms with the razor. He doesn’t hear the rest, his hearts sinking on the fact he’ll have to stay here. The desperation comes in full force.“I want to go home.” He whispers back, his lower lip quivering.





	Stay with me...please

New York.

He always loved New York City, the city of dreams. “ _The city that never sleeps”_  Jarvis used to tell him as he tucked him to sleep. A city where you could make your ambitions came true if you worked hard enough. Tony always vowed to that promise, wanting to help people. Perhaps inhering his father legacy hadn’t been the best options in fulfilling his dream. But that never stopped him from dreaming.  He tried to move on. But even sometimes his past would haunt him, remembering that no matter how many things he created ever after he stopped manufacturing weapons, there was still blood on his hands.

_And always will._

At least he won’t have to worry about ever trying to create something.  His hands are dead.  They’re useless, only resting there as a decoration. Lacking every ounce of motor skill a human can possess.

The nerve damage in both of his hands is bad. The scars on his arms are the proof that even genius can miscalculate. If  _only you had pressed a little bit more the razor into your arms and ignore pain. Maybe that wouldn’t have alerted them_.

“Very lucky” were the words of the doctor once he examines the damage; the blade had only sliced the nerves and not the main arteries.

_That’s a shame._

_“So where do your people go when they die?” He gulps the entire bottle, thirsty. Beginning to feel the exhaustion on his body, he sits on the sofa. It’s comfy. Maybe way too comfy for a sleep deprived guy who’s trying to get an answer from a god “Like aren’t you supposed to be immortal or something?”_

_“They go to Valhalla” Thor gaze’s is distant, lost in his thought._

_“Is that the equivalent of heaven?” He feels stupid, way too stupid for asking that to a god that can’t even grasp the concept of democracy. “I me-“_

_“It’s the hall of the fallen. Were only the worthiest can gain the entrance of a life that’s the envy of every Viking warrior.”_

In moments like this is where he dreams of waking up in Valhalla, away from the ever heart retching feeling of desperation and depression.   _Valhalla,_  free of guilt, humiliation, shame, and most importantly… ** _pain._**

Maybe this wouldn’t hurt so much if he hadn’t wasted his last chance of stopping this nightmare. Carbon monoxide poisoning had been a dumb move. No, it was doomed to fail.  But…he had been so close to succeeding, only one inch away from freedom.  If only Barnes hadn’t noticed his absence he would have died-

His chins start to itch.

 He tries to move his hands but they won’t budge.  _Restraints_ , he reminds himself of the hard leather cuffs resting on each side of his hands and legs. He tends to forget he has them on, and that no matter how much he tries, he’s strapped to the bed. Once the restraints are on, he’s immobilized.

The leather cuffs are uncomfortable; it makes his skins itch even more. But he’ll rather have the hard itching leather than the chemical restraints.  The mere sights of a syringe full of Ativan freak him out…or just needles in general.

This is one of the times where he sorts of wishes he not to be in…isolation. “Protected room” Was the word the nurse described as he was being led to isolation.  _Bullshit_ , those were just fancy words for “ _We’re locking you here until you learn that biting isn’t the best way to greet people.”_

And the most boring room in all the history of psychiatric hospitals; this one has no door knob on the inside. One steel door and a small window beside the padded walls. He can sometimes hear the laughter of children, a reminder that there’s life outside this bed. 

Or maybe it’s the voices messing with him again. They’re strangely quiet today, almost as if they went on vacations. Perhaps it’s his new medication working.  _A chemical cocktail to make him less “violent”_

_“Drug him, now!” The ER doctor screamed as he inspected his bitten arm, while four men were holding him back._

He remembered very clearly stating while he was on the strolling bed with that stupid oxygen mask that he had Trypanophobia. But that didn’t stop the ER doctor, who apparently didn’t give a single shit, from showing him the gigantic needle.

Wishing for a caring doctor would be asking for a miracle. He had lived long enough to realize that miracles didn’t exist.   _He stills has nightmares of the final battle; the image of Rhodey living thanks to life support machine haunts him every day._

A fragment of our imagination.

A simple fantasy human had created to ignore the cruel fate that life laid ahead.

* * *

 

“How are you feeling today Mr. Stark?” Is the first question that pops out of the doctor’s mouth as he sits right in front of him.

Tony is accustomed to those kinds of questions. Maybe two years ago he would have replied a snarky comment or a single “fuck you”.  Perhaps three months ago he would have yelled to free him from this.

But now?

He barely has the energy to stay awake.

“I’-I’m…” He stutters, struggling to find the correct words. He licks his lips, trying to keep control of his emotions _. It’s only a check up, that’s it. This isn’t an interrogation, keep it together._  But in reality, he’s completely terrified of saying something that will worsen his situation. He doesn’t want to spend another day locked up there, doesn’t want to be strapped up in a bed anymore. It's his sanity who's at stake.  

His throat isn’t helping. The doctor notices how hard he’s struggling to get the words out, trying very hard to not have another breakdown.  “It’s okay, don’t be afraid. We have all the time you need.” The doctor sympathetic words only make him feel worse.

“I want to go home.” He manages to whisper back.

“I understand being away home can be scary”  _Are we getting out?  Are we finally going home? Yes! Yes! Can we se- “_ You have made some major improvement these past couples of days, but I think it's best that you stay here until you get better. We want to be one hundred percent sure that you’re okay, but if you want we can arrange some visits for you what do you think? I believe St-”

_No._

 “But I have been here more than 72 hours.” His voice breaks at the end of the sentence because the thought of not seeing Rhodes this weekend makes the sadness feel more overwhelming.

  _I want to go home._

_I want to see Rhodey._

“The court ordered an extended stay Mr. Stark.” Those words hurt more than the time he sliced his arms with the razor “But it’s for the best. You’ll be staying with us for a little longer and…”

He doesn’t hear the rest, his hearts sinking on the fact he won't be getting out of here anytime soon. The desperation comes in full force. He shuts his eyes,  _don’t cry, and please don’t cry in front of the doctor. Not right now, please._

 His lower lip starts quivering 

“But w-why? I d-don’t, I j-just.”  _Take a deep breath, and don’t cry. If you cry we’ll have to spend another day in that awful room._ ”I have learned my lesson! I swear I’ll never get close t-to… please, please let me go. I c-can't, I w-won't think I can survive one more day here”

 “Mr. Stark please stay calm.” He starts to panic at the worried stare from the doctors, whose hands are dangerously too close to the emergency button.  _You fucking piece of shit,_  h _e’s going to call the nurses._ ” I know you’re confused and scared right, but if you let me explain me the treatment the court dic-“

And he simply loses it. It isn’t until he sees a pair of nurses entering that he realizes he fucked up the session.  _No, no no nonono!_  He watches in horror as the nurse takes the needle with Ativan out of her pocket. He begs at the doctor, the nurse  _to please don’t drug me_  but he’s tackled to the ground by the security team when he tries to resist.

So he screams in response, frightened. There’s no point in holding his tears anymore. He sobs and wails when the needle pierces the skin. 

_You fucked this up._

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He chants, terrified of what’s going to happen next.  He doesn’t want to wake up alone, in isolation, where the only company he has are multiple voices ordering to kill himself. “I’m sorry, I’m s-“

 “Shhh, it's okay sweetie.” He hears one of the nurses while dragging his now limp body. _This wasn’t supposed to happen._  That doesn’t stop the sobbing.”You were scared.” He whimpers, closing his eyes in fear.

He wakes up several hours later. The room is now dark; the only window’s lack of light indicates that it’s night. His worst nightmare is confirmed: he’ll stay the night here.  

_You brought this upon yourself_

Alone, restrained and forgotten like a broken toy.

He weeps.

* * *

 

The depression isn’t getting better.  The voices get more insistent, blaming him. He starts banging his head against the wall, hoping that will quiet them. It does until the staff comes running with more sedation.

Days pass like this, his world slowly dimming out. He’s surrounded by this dark empty space filled with nothing but his own negativity and suffering. It’s futile trying to fight against the world, against the voices any longer.   

He can already picture the disgusting smile of Ross hovering over his suits.

Years of achievement, creations, and dreams are gone. His prototypes, blueprint, properties, technology and most importantly his company are gone. Either auctioned or confiscated.  His tower, the one he had built from scratch was now owned and habited by the people that turned against him. The very same people that had remorse in letting him rot in Siberia.

They’re gone.

_“You can take away my house, all my tricks, and toys. But one thing you can't take away... I am Iron Man."_

He snorts; Iron Man was dead to the world.

Ross made sure that he’d never touched them again.

The press destroyed his image. And Steve… _he broke your soul_.

**_ He won the war. _ **

He’s given different medication, yet he still feels dead on the inside. The voices order him not to take his medications and he tries every possible thing to evade them. But the doctor won’t give up.  _Lab rat! Lab rat! The voices sing._

He soon learns the concept of forced treatment and stops trying to purge them in fear of the nurses shoving more pills into his throat.

_He misses Rhodey._

_He misses Pepper._

_He misses Stev-_

 “Are you okay?”

He’s startled by a female voice.  _Oh my god, they’re coming for him._   _That’s it; they’re going to kill him, they are going to make him beg h-_

It’s a nurse. It’s only a nurse.“You look a little bit paler.” 

“It’s the voices.” He mumbles, shying away from her, not caring about breaking the number one rule:  _don’t talk about us._  He knows the routine, she only comes in the morning to wash him and make him eat. This time he only wants to be alone, without the prying eyes of medical staff studying him almost like he was a scientific experiment. “Please, I’m tired. Can I go back to sleep?”

“What voice?” She’s with some tray of sorts in her hands. He questions the oddly looking things resting on the plate.  _Food,_ his minds tells him,  _they’re going to make you eat it_. At least they weren’t shoving a feeding tube into his nose.

_The voices shriek._

”Are you hearing voices sweetheart?” She coaxes him, sitting right next to him.  _Shit, she knows about us. She knows and she’s going to inform the doctor. He’s going to kill us, Tony. All thanks to you. This wouldn’t have happened if only you followed our orders in the first place. You useless piece of sh-_

“Relax! I’m just going to take your temperature and blood pressure. No needles.” She raises her hand, showing no pointed object.  Just food, thermometer, and a blood pressure cuff. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He sighs, so grateful for the lack of needles. It doesn’t take too long for the examination to finish before she places the tray in front of him. He knows she’s disgusted at his body; the hospital clothes don’t hide his protruding hip bones and rib cages.

_She knows._

“Please don’t tell my doctor” He pleads looking for any security camera in the room. He can’t let the doctor know about the voices or else he’s going to kill them.  _No, no he can’t let him kill them. They’re the only thing he has left._ ”Ple-“

She just smiles.

“Eat.” 

* * *

 

He’s having another session, days from the incident.  It’ the same doctor from before sitting in front of him, just a little bit more farther than last time. He feels guilty when he sees the healed scratch on the doctor’s face.

 He had never meant to become violent.

_You stupid piece of shit, look what you did to him. Monster, no wonder everybody le-._

He finds himself looking at preoccupied stare of the doctor. And squirms once he noticed he’s being examined like one of those  _Lab rats! Lab rats_ He holds Tony’s hand. “A nurse told me you had lost weight.”

_Shit, she told him._

_Did she tell him about us?_

_You stupid fuck, why did you opened your mouth in the first place?_

“Care to explain me why? Is the food not to your liking?”

He shakes his head, fiddling with the hospital ID on his wrist. Not exactly sure how to tell him in very comprehensive words that he only  _wants to die._

“Because you cannot lose more weight Mr. Stark. If you keep refusing to eat, we’ll have no other alternative then put a feeding tube into your nose.”  

_You deserve to die._

“Tony” The doctor had never called him that before.  _Tony, tony, that names sound familiar. Has he ever heard that name before?_  “Does this has to do…with the voices?”

_You have nothing left._

“Please, Tony. We really want to help you, people care about you”

_Who’s Tony?_

_Is Tony a person?_

_Die, die, die._

His hearts skip a beat when he hears the disappointed sigh from the doctor. “I believe our time is up.”

His sixth senses warn him that something is wrong. The doctor calls the nurses and it a matter of minutes before they appear. He doesn’t want to go back to his room, beginning to regret not talking to the therapist. It isn’t until the nurses retrieve him when he hears “Please contact me with the jury. I believe this is urgent”

* * *

 

The next week the court of New York grants the full guardianship of Anthony Edwards Stark to Steve Rogers.

 The media had never been happier.

* * *

 

  _“We tried several medications and he doesn’t seem to be responding well to them”_

When the doctor opens the door, he’s met with the most heartbreaking sight. “Oh Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry.” He apologizes, rushing to aid, his two-week patient, now catatonic.  “Please” He calls the nurse. “Come in.”

It pains him to see him like this. If only the hospital’s director had taken his suggestions from the first day to remove Tony from the isolation ward, perhaps his patient mental condition wouldn’t have deteriorated so quickly. 

“Mr. Stark” The third time he calls his name; his patient’s eyes seem to twitch.   _I’m here;_ he smiles at the stubbornness of his patience. “It's okay” He reassures him. “We’re going to get rid of the pain. You’re going to be just fine. No more darkness, no more silence. I will personally ensure that you never step a foot into these kinds of rooms.”

_I’m scared._

“Please close his eyes while I get the IV. Get him comfortable. He’s scared of needles” He's given a muscle relaxant and general anesthesia. Within 30 seconds, the room dissolves.

He's out cold.

They transport his body in a wheelchair and whisked him to a room on the fourth floor. The assistants lay him out on his back while finishing their work. In a matter of minutes, Tony’s head looks like Christmas tree, decorated with various electrodes and multiple colorful cords connecting to what resembles an antiquated stereo set. The oxygen mask is put on, along with the mouth guard. A couple of dials protrude from the machine. The rest of the staff waits for the doctors.

“On the count of three...two…”

The doctor flips the switch.

A three-second burst of 140 volts blasts through Tony's brain. Despite unconscious, Tony’s torso immediately jerks up, his arms and legs writhe slightly, steadied by muscle relaxants still in his bloodstream. Tony’s toes curl downward as if his feet were trying ball up into fists.

He's experiencing an induced seizure.

Two minutes later, it's all over.

Tony’s body eventually stops trembling.

“On the count of three… two…”  For the next two weeks, general anesthesia becomes Tony’s best friend. Memory loss, nausea, headache, jaw pain or muscle ache are the side effects. But that doesn’t stop him from screaming once he wakes up and realizes the voices are gone: the doctor has killed them.

_“I believe multiple monitored electroconvulsive therapy is our best option for Mr. Stark”_

 

* * *

Tony doesn’t really remember what exactly happens after the last ECT session: one moment he's recovering from his last session and the next one he’s wrapped in blankets. The sound of a closing door makes him snap out of his trance.

The black SUV starts moving

A person sits and rearranges Tony's harness. Tony munches the sandwich he’s handed, oblivious of the flashing lights and the screams of the reporters trying to take a glimpse of him. The driver puts the radio on, and for the rest of the ride, Tony hums all the ac/dc smash hits until he eventually falls asleep.

The person pauses for a moment, watching Tony sleep. The shorter man makes a soft sleeping sound. He wants to stay with, hold him again, and kiss until the last possible seconds. Instead, he places a gentle kiss on his temple, careful not to wake him up.

Promising to himself, that this time...  _he_  won't lose him again. That this time,  _he'll be there for Tony._

 _“I'm not angry at you. We're going to figure this out and you're going to be okay. The ambulance will be here any minute but Tony you have to stay awake, you hear me?” He whispers into my ears. Is this death? Am I going to die? Steve, please don't cry. Now I won't be a burden anymore“ Don't close your eyes, Tony don't close your eyes!_   _Stay with me...please. Please don't leave me, please...”_

_I love you Steve_

_I love you_

_I…love…you…_


End file.
